


Gingerbreads

by Archadian_Skies



Category: Kuroshitsuji : The Most Beautiful DEATH in the World - Iwasaki/Mori/Mari, Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Kindergarten & Pre-school, Gen, creche tender undertaker vs smol reaperlings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 21:57:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17292173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archadian_Skies/pseuds/Archadian_Skies
Summary: An old tumblr prompt to write kindergarten reaperlings





	1. Chapter 1

“She tore my book!”

“He pulled my hair!”

“I only pulled it because you tore my book!”

“You didn’t want to colour it!”

“I don’t like red!”

The arguments escalated along with their little voices, and he sighed indulgently. Crouching to their height, he placed his fingers against their lips lightly to hush them; had they tails, they surely would have bristled at the gesture.

“Now now Reaperlings, what’s going on here? The little lady can go first.” He removed his hand from her mouth.

“Will wouldn’t play with me and then he pulled my hair!”

“Did you try to take his book, Grell?” He asked, keeping his voice calm and patient. She puffed her cheeks indignantly.

“He’s supposed to share!”

“But it’s his book.” He reminded her, before removing his fingers from William’s mouth. “William, what do you have to tell me?”

“it’s my book and I don’t want her to colour it!”

“Did you pull her hair?” It was the boy’s turn to puff his cheeks and look away stubbornly.

“She tore my book!” He muttered angrily. The Undertaker sighed; oh he was much  _much_  too old to be looking after Reaperlings, but even Creche Tenders were called away for meetings and  _someone_  had to look after the little ones.

“Both of you have to apologize and hold hands in the naughty corner.” He stood at full height, hands on his hips and expression stern enough to cause them to swallow nervously.

“For how long?” Grell whined.

“For five minutes.”

“That’s forever!” She wailed, stamping her feet.

“It’s five minutes.” William huffed. He snatched her hand and marched to the aforementioned corner despite Grell’s yelp of protest. After a few moments, Grell settled against him.

Blessed peace.

Gathering his robes, he set off to check on the others sharing the creche. He didn’t have to go far, finding the Scottish lad and the country mouse in the next room poring over a picture book.

“Hello Eric, hello Alan.”

“Hullo.” They chorused cheerily.

“Is everything alright here?”

“Yessir.” Eric chirped, smiling proudly.

“Good.” He chuckled, mussing his hair before tapping Alan’s nose. “I’ll go check on Ronald.”

The youngest member of the creche was upright in his cot, brightening upon seeing him and bursting into a round of gurgly giggling.

“No trouble from you, mister Knox?” The Undertaker laughed, bending to lift him out of the cot and brace him on his hip. “How about we go see how William and Grell are behaving, hm?”

Ronald nodded eagerly, one hand combing through his long silvery locks curiously. There were perks to this, he capitulated, and though the little dears were terrifyingly energetic, it was better than an afternoon of making coffins small enough for mortals their size.

The troublemakers were sitting in the corner, hands still linked, but they’d lost the sourness in their faces from earlier on.

“Well now, that wasn’t so hard was it?” He sat on the playmat in the centre of the room and beckoned them over, before calling out to the quieter pair in the other room.

“Now, who wants to hear a story?”

“ME! I want one with a detective!”

“ME! I want one with a murder!”

“I want one with pirates!” Eric rushed in, Alan right behind him.

“I want one with explorers!”

“How about,” the Undertaker shifted so Ronald sat in his lap, “a detective goes to investigate a murder on the high seas where pirates have kidnapped a group of explorers?”

They all shouted their approval, and Grell crawled closer, hands resting on his knee.

“Is there blood?”

“Plenty of it.”

“Are they clever?” William asked warily.

“Very much so.”

“Do they fight with swords?”

“Dangerously!” He answered Eric.

“Does it have a happy ending?” Alan asked shyly. The Undertaker smiled, reaching to cup his cheek fondly.

“The Ending doesn’t matter if it’s happy or not- that they have an end after a full life is what matters most.”


	2. Chapter 2

He passes the studious one reading a book on native birdlife, and steps over the Scottish one busily building a railway for his wooden train, and swats the hands of the redhead as she tries to reach for the long suffering Mr. Crow, before settling in front of the country lad perched on the chaise. 

“Gingerbread, Alan?” He asks, crouching so their eyes can meet over the large picture book. “I’m off to bake some for afternoon tea and a certain Crèche Tender told me you like to help.”

“I can do that!” The Reaperling brightens, closing the book and holding out his arms so he can be lifted off the chaise. Chuckling, the Ancient One gathers him in an embrace and sits him on the crook of his arm so they can both make their way into the kitchen.

As for the youngest, quite content with his wooden toy car in his high chair, he babbles excitedly when they enter the room.

“Hello Ronald. Alan is here to help me make gingerbreads. Would you like some gingerbreads?" 

A squeal of laughter is his response, and the Undertaker chortles merrily before mussing the boy’s unruly hair that couldn’t quite decide if it wanted to be blond or brown yet.

The making of the gingerbreads draws quite a crowd, and a stern talking to from the country lad who has decided it’s his task and not theirs, no, though he does permit William to measure out the milk because William is proper about his numbers. Grell wants none of the work, stating ladies don’t wear flour in their hair or on their clothes, and he has to dive to haul Eric back before the lad crawls into the oven to light it.

It’s as Alan is in the midst of using the cutter to make perfectly shaped gingerbread, with William lining them up attentively like soldiers on the tray, that he manages to put the wheel back on Ronald’s car and sits Grell up on the table so she can mind Ronald and hiss at Eric who has, by now, gotten flour everywhere on his person.

He cajoles them into a brief game of hide and seek whilst the biscuits bake, and not too long after the house smells of sweetly spiced treats and a freshly bathed, flour-free Scottish child.

There’s much delight as he sits them all down for warm milk and gingerbreads, and Ronald has enough teeth to gnaw now and partake in their afternoon snacking.

Alan looks mightily pleased as everyone tucks into their biscuits, and he takes a moment to thank him for his hard work and helping hands.

"You did very very well, Alan!” He smiles, brushing a few crumbs from the boy’s rosy cheeks. “Why, even Mr. Crow is impressed!”

Mr. Crow has been allowed a crushed gingerbread and though demons weren’t fond of mortal food, he seems content enough to peck at the fruits of their labour. 

“Gingerbreads are my favourite! They can be Mr. Crow’s favourite too!” The boy beams, and the Undertaker laughs mirthfully, before giving the demon a fond wink.

* * *

 

“Gingerbread, Alan?” He asks, holding out the platter to the young man sitting in his parlour.

“Oh, thank you sir.” The Reaper is mildly surprised, but pleased as he takes one and bites into it. “Gingerbreads are my favourite.”

“I know. A little Crow told me so.” The Undertaker cackled at the memory, before tapping the album on his desk. “Now, about this coffin of yours-?”


End file.
